Fed Up

I am fed up. Fed up with this constant mottled misery, fed up with the vigil, fed up with everyone around me fed up with God and his cruel time plan. I’m tired of being bored, sick of nurses who don’t know what the hell they are doing, finished with this drafty house, this town. I can’t stand painful memories anymore. I am so done with being tired and worn out. I am sick of looking in the mirror not recognizing the hag I see; seeing bags, wrinkles and grey hair that I have never had before. Fed up with Xanax nightmares. 

No more do I want to put on the happy show with my penitence being the pounding headache behind my eyes. I am sick of this lump that constantly resides in my throat. I’m tired of over-reacting. I’m weary of listening to people complain with an understanding look on my face. I am fed up with never being able to articulate how frustrated I am without hearing, “You think that’s’ bad…” This moodiness end eggshell walking seems to be too much. No more can I hear “She’s working through something, don’t take it personal” as an excuse to be unkind.  I am fed up with my soul being split in two, struggling to find my place in two distinct worlds, one with new life and one with old.